


Born to be a Pirate

by MaiKusakabe



Series: For Those We Love [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baby Ace, Family, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking care of a child is hard, Rouge knows that. Taking care of a child on a pirate ship… Well, Ace is going to be a boy with some very unique mentors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baby Care 101

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the continuation I had mentioned for my other story ‘For Those We Love’. In here, we will explore Ace’s life growing up with his mother and the Whitebeard Pirates. You can understand this story without having read the other first, but I’d recommend that you read the other, or you’ll be missing some information.
> 
> This also doubles as my contribution for Day 8 of the unusually long Whitebeard Crew Week, for the prompt AU :)
> 
> Beta-read by Aerle :)

There was a very common and widely spread belief —an unfair one, in Marco’s opinion— that said pirates were illiterate brutes who didn’t care for the more delicate aspects of life. Maybe most of them would be defined as brutes by common standards, and some might be illiterate, but, as far as the Whitebeard Pirates were concerned, they _did_ care.

Proof of it was the interest the entire crew had put into Rouge’s pregnancy, worrying about her comfort and wellbeing to the point of exasperating her and making her snap at more than one person to just let her breathe for a while. The concern about how they would act and what they should do once the baby was born had resulted into a search for information about babies. It had started with Rouge’s baby books being passed around —and Marco might have been the first one to ask her for them, but that was something no one was stupid enough to tease him about— and had evolved into people buying even more books whenever they weren’t satisfied with an explanation.

Now, a week after Gol D. Ace had been born, it was easy to see at least two or three people reviewing one of those books at any given time to make sure they really had their information right.

 

* * *

 

 

Rouge had always heard about how babies were a handful that completely ruined their parents’ chances for more than two or three hours of uninterrupted sleep, but had dismissed them as an exaggeration. Not anymore. Two weeks into her motherhood, and she had started to fear the dark circles under her eyes would never disappear.

She had felt bad, at first, when Thatch had suggested that someone else could take care of Ace some nights so she could catch up on her sleep, but she had felt so rested the morning after Thatch had watched over Ace that the guilt she had been feeling had diminished. Until she had seen Thatch’s miserable and exhausted face at breakfast. Still, he had assured her that it was fine, and the next day, it had been Vista who had offered to look after Ace.

Before she realized it, there was a schedule for Ace’s nights, in which nobody spent more than one night in a row looking after him —except, occasionally, Marco, who had the crew’s most heartfelt resentment for not showing any kind of negative effects after spending various nights awake. Rouge noticed, though she didn’t say it out loud, that the shifts were limited to those people she had developed most confidence with in the months she had spent in the crew. She thanked Thatch silently for it. She might like the atmosphere in the crew, and find the people nice, but she didn’t want to leave her son with anybody she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain that she could trust.

 

* * *

 

 

“I feel a little bad about this,” Rouge said, observing the large group of people gathered around Ace from her perch on the stairs. She could hear Ace’s delighted laughter in between the cheers and jeers of the crew.

“Don’t. Just think of all the work you’ll be free from,” Vista, who was sitting next to her and grooming his moustache while occasionally joining in on the cheers, advised her.

“Eugh, FUCK!” someone whose voice Rouge couldn’t identify amongst the laughter yelled.

“Yes, but still, I feel it’s my job. And this is a waste of money.”

Vista chuckled.

“We can spend it, don’t worry about that.

A dirty, balled up diaper joined the growing pile of used, clean ones on the floor. It seemed Ace had decided to use this one.

“Okay, you got it. NEXT!” Thatch yelled, and the next ‘student’ stepped forward for a practical class of diaper-changing.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it this time!” Thatch announced, holding the bottle up triumphantly.

“Really? Let me see,” Rouge said, extending her hand.

Thatch passed her the bottle and watched as she tipped it slowly so a drop would fall on the back of her palm before nodding her approval. She walked up to Ace to feed him —he had eaten not so long ago, but Ace would spend all his time awake eating if they let him.

Then he noticed Marco’s little smirk.

“What?” Thatch asked, eyes narrowed.

“It took you an hour to get it right.”

“So?”

“You’re a _chef_.”

Instead of answering —because, yes, it was frustrating that an accomplished chef such as himself had needed an hour to get the bottle of baby milk up to Rouge’s standards— he threw a dishtowel at Marco.

“Shut up and come try it,” he grumbled.

It had taken them far too long to realize that it wasn’t fair Rouge had to prepare all of Ace’s considerable amount of bottles of milk for the day, and had decided it was about time other people learned how to do it as well.

 

* * *

 

 

It hadn’t taken long for the crew to realize that Ace loved to be outside when he was awake. He slept a lot, that was true, and had the bad habit of waking up every two hours wailing for food, but when he was calm, he loved to be outside. Especially at night. He would stare up at the stars, giggle and wave his arms around.

So Marco had settled for spending his nights of watching him —at least the warm ones— somewhere on deck. He would sit with his back against a wall somewhere with a nice view, and tell Ace a story while he tried in vain to reach the stars. Sometimes Marco told him about a silly adventure of the crew —even if Ace wouldn’t remember, he made a point of talking about their meetings with Roger, because Rouge had made clear how important it was that he knew about his father— and others he told the myth behind the name of a certain star or constellation.

Ace always fell asleep halfway through the stories, but another thing they had realized was that it calmed him to hear people talk. And Marco found that it was relaxing to be able to talk without having to worry about the other person’s reaction, or about maintaining a conversation.

Sometimes, Marco talked about personal and private things, because Ace couldn’t tell them to anyone. And Marco was sure he wouldn’t, anyway, even when he grew old enough to remember what he had heard.


	2. Protecting the Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, a story that’s not dead :D
> 
> Unfortunately, while I do have a lot of ideas for this story, none of them are for the time before Ace learns to crawl. That, combined with lack of time and a few other things, resulted in this story being pushed to the side for a while. Sorry, I’ll try not to take so long to update next time.
> 
> Beta-read by Aerle :)

Amongst the many preparations and arrangements the crew had made for baby Ace, nobody had stopped to give a second thought to the little detail of the periodical attacks they were subjected to. The attacks themselves were some of the events the crew looked forward to the most, that was something Rouge had learned early on, but a battle was no place for a baby.

Ace was two months old and Rouge was stretched out on a blanket on deck, helping him stretch his legs with some exercises a nurse had taught her in the last island they stopped at, when the guys on watch spotted _a fleet_ of pirate ships approaching the Moby Dick.

“Guess that explains the calm,” Marco commented dryly from a nearby deck chair. He pulled a piece of scrap paper out of a pocket, used it to mark his spot on the book he had been reading, and stood up.

Instead of joining the eager preparations —Rouge had been six months into her pregnancy the last time anyone had dared to attack them and this time there appeared to be enough enemies for everybody on board the Moby Dick to have a go at them— Marco approached her.

“We should go to a more covered area before we’re in firing range,” he suggested, and Rouge nodded.

She didn’t particularly like the idea of depriving Marco of the chance to have fun, because for all that he was so laid back and intellectually inclined, Rouge knew he enjoyed a good fight as much as everyone else here did. But this wasn’t about Rouge. No matter how capable a fighter she was, she preferred the idea of not being alone. Because this was about Ace’s safety, and she wasn’t going to refuse any help offered in keeping him safe, much less _Marco’s_. Whitebeard may be the strongest person in the crew —in the world, perhaps, now— but Marco had unarguably the best defense out of everybody here.

Rouge stood up, cradling Ace in her arms, and waited for Marco to collect the blanket and the handful of toys strewn around before following him to a more covered corner deeper into the deck, a place from which they had a good view of the battle.

Rouge couldn’t find it in herself to be surprised when Ace proved he was delighted by the explosions.

Once the battle was over, it was decided that from now on, whenever there was an attack, Whitebeard and Marco would take turns to stay out of things and sit with Rouge and Ace to watch.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Rouge maybe a few days to notice.

The first time she noticed it, she thought she had misunderstood. She had only heard part of the conversation, after all, so it was a likely possibility that it was part of a joke she wasn’t privy to.

The second time, she just blinked, wondered for a moment what was going on, shook her head, and promptly forgot about it.

By the fifth time, it was too bizarre to ignore.

Rouge was eating breakfast while Thatch fed Ace his second bottle for the meal. The conversation down the table had been growing in intensity, one of those exchanges that had the potential to end up in blows.

“Dude, what the f-fruit?!”

Rouge set her fork down and turned on the bench before whoever that comment had been aimed at could respond.

“That’s it,” she said in an even voice, and had the immense pleasure of seeing every person in hearing range freeze. That, in turn, resulted in the entire mess hall falling silent as people noticed the change.

Rouge still hadn’t figured out if her disproportionate amount of authority in the crew was because of her own aura or because sometime during her pregnancy she had earned the right to sick a commander on anybody who so much as breathed the wrong way around her.

She didn’t really care.

“Is it me,” she started, enunciating her words slowly and clearly, “or are you guys trying not to curse?”

There was an amusing amount of uncertain looks exchanged all over the room before people started to talk over one another.

“Yeah, well…”

“You see—“

“Given that—“

“—Glared at—“

“—Moms—“

“—Pissed—“

Despite the gaggle of voices and the garbled words, Rouge got a decent enough picture of the situation.

She raised her hands to ask for silence.

“Guys, guys,” Rouge called, and the voices tapered off. “I appreciate the effort, I really do, but you don’t have to do it. I made my peace with the knowledge that my child would grow up with the worst mouth this side of the Red Line even before I gave birth to Ace.” Because, as much as she had scolded Roger for it, the truth was that she had understood there was no avoiding it on a pirate ship. “You can curse as much as you want.”

Taking her words literally, maybe even in a twisted attempt to make up for lost opportunities, a wide array of curse words started to sound from all over the mess hall.

And she was amused, yes, but she was also happy. _Really happy_. She looked at Ace, obliviously drinking from his bottle in the arms of a cackling Thatch. An entire pirate crew had been willing to give up one of their more natural habits for the wellbeing of her baby.

Maybe he would curse like the best of pirates, but Rouge had a feeling Ace would grow up as one of the most doted on children in the world. Spoiled too, maybe, though Rouge had no idea what would count as spoiling here.

She really couldn’t wait to see.


	3. Logistics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! I bring an update :D
> 
> Thanks a lot to Mithril Lace for helping with a doubt I had here ^^ (I hope I didn’t mess up)
> 
> Beta-read by Aerle :)

Pops had been in a bad mood lately, and he wasn’t the only one; all because of Ace. Oh, Ace hadn’t _done_ anything wrong (difficult for a baby two months old, really), but there were certain issues with the logistics of holding him for those people of a considerably larger than average size. Namely, they couldn’t keep a proper hold on him due to how small Ace was, and the only reason there hadn’t been an accident was their good reflexes. After the third near miss, however, Rouge had announced that anyone whose hands were too large to properly hold Ace would have to keep him in his basket at all times.

Pops had grumbled, saying it wasn’t the same, but he and everyone else had agreed because Rouge was Ace’s mother and thus these decisions were hers.

There had been a lot of un-pirate-like complaints about how impersonal it felt to hold the basket instead of Ace himself.

Then, two days ago, Marco had announced that he had found a solution. Which was great, except because there had been _the glint_ in Marco’s eyes; the one that suggested he was drawing a certain amount of perverse pleasure from the situation. Everybody else had been suitably wary, but the possibility of solving this issue was worth the risk of complete humiliation (because it wouldn’t be the first time that look in Marco’s eyes resulted in someone wanting to murder him).

As it turned out, the humiliation was only mild this time around. Sure, the tiny baby carriers looked ridiculous on all of them and ruined their façade of fearsome pirates, but they negated the need for the damn basket.

Unfortunately, no amount of glares stopped the un-pirate-like giggling, and not even Pops had managed to stop Marco from taking pictures (he was the only one who could reasonably ignore his threats, much to Thatch’s disappointment).

 

* * *

 

 

Rouge was sitting on the bottom of one of the many sets of steps on deck, tapping a pen against the notebook propped on her knees as she thought. Nearby, Thatch was holding Ace up, while Ace reached out to Jozu, who was turning random parts of his arm into diamond to entertain him. Jozu’s power was one of the world’s most fascinating things, if the way Ace loved them was anything to go by.

Ace was currently dressed in the marine outfit Roger had found so amusing back in the day (pictures had been taken, and they would be added to a growing album in Marco’s sort-of office slash navigation room that had been titled, after some debate, _Future Embarrassing Ace Pictures_ ). That outfit was one of the few that still fit Ace reasonably well, given that he had outgrown most of his baby clothes by now, and he was using some larger-sized clothes Rouge and Roger had bought.

And here Rouge was, watching as Ace tried in vain to reach Jozu’s diamond shoulder and trying to come up with a list of everything she would have to buy. The list was turning out to be longer than she had anticipated when she first noticed Ace would need new clothes. Due to the sheer amount of clothes for Ace she had arrived with, and the fact that they were in many different sizes because that was Roger shopping when he wasn’t sure which sizes they would need, Rouge hadn’t given much importance to the fact that Ace had outgrown one outfit or another (outfits that she carefully stored into a box at the bottom of her closet; because, well, she was sentimental like that). That was until yesterday, when she had noticed there were only two clean onesies and a few other garments that still fit Ace.

That wouldn’t do.

“How’s it going?”

She turned around to look up at Marco, standing at the top of the steps.

“Not so well. I don’t think I have the funds for this,” she said, waving the pen. Because while hers and Roger’s buying spree during their trip had ensured Ace still had some clothes, it also meant she had arrived on the Moby Dick with little more than pocket change.

“Funds?”  Marco walked down the steps and bent over to look at the list. He whistled. “That’s a lot.”

Rouge sighed.

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll get you the money.”

“No, no,” Rouge hurried to say. “You guys are already paying for everything else.”

Marco gave her one of his most unimpressed looks.

“Do you _really_ want me to ask what everybody here thinks about that?”

Rouge imagined herself covered in money for clothes from indignant pirates. Or, worse yet, pirate-chosen clothes.

She sighed.

“Leave it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Whitebeard was certain that his children were messing with him. The fact that Thatch was failing miserably at leading a stealth unit, all of them armed with cameras, to follow him around pretty much proved it.

He didn’t care.

“Pops,” Rouge called, very obviously holding back a giggle, and he bent down so she could pick Ace up from the baby carrier to try some clothes on.

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow at the dumbstruck shopkeeper, prevented a diaper bag from falling out of his pant pocket, and stood up.

Someone muffled a laugh.

He might not care, but those idiots were on the post-midnight watch duty shift until their hair turned all gray.


	4. The Upcoming Future

Sometimes Thatch liked to bring Ace’s new stroller into the kitchen at odd hours, when the place was calm and Thatch could focus on an experiment or whatever he felt like cooking, and tell him about random things.

Thatch found hilarious the way in which Ace leaned forward and sniffed, as if trying to taste the food that way. Ace was still too young to start introducing him to foods other than his bibs, but Thatch couldn’t wait until Ace grew a few months older to get to work on the detailed plan Thatch was developing for him. He was certain that Ace’s appetite would only increase over the years.

Thatch was telling Ace about his latest addition to this plan now as he monitored the three pots on the stove. When Thatch turned around, he found Ace busy trying to eat his left sleeve.

Thatch snorted.

“Yeah, you’ll _love_ food.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ace was being particularly fussy as of late. He had also developed a tendency to latch onto random things with his mouth and attempt to eat them. It took Rouge a few days to figure out what the issue was.

“He’s teething?” Thatch asked, surprised. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

“At least a month earlier than I expected,” Rouge confirmed. She then looked down at Ace. “I guess you want to start eating soon, don’t you?”

Ace giggled and waved his hands around.

 

* * *

 

 

Due to her pregnancy and the strain of giving birth to Ace, Rouge’s physical skills had fallen somewhat into disuse over the last few months. The nurses had insisted that she should take things easy since Ace’s birth, and they had just recently cleared her for full physical training. She was no commander, but she wasn’t a weakling either, and that was why she was now wiping the deck of the Moby Dick with all the volunteers who had lined up to help her back into shape.

“Look at your mom kicking ass,” Thatch cooed at Ace from his perch on one of the armrests of Pops’ chair. Ace was secured to Pops’ chest, from where he had a fantastic view of Rouge, who was currently using an unfortunate crewmember as a throw weapon against an approaching group.

Ace was giggling and waving his hands happily at his mother. Whether he knew what was going on or not, it was clear he was enjoying the spectacle.

Marco shook his head from where he was sitting on Pops’ shoulder.

“Has anyone asked Rouge about training Ace?” he asked, turning to look at Pops.

Pops shook his head —he knew better than to shrug when Marco used him as a perch, even more so if he was holding Ace— and glanced around. Headshakes answered Marco’s question.

“Why do you ask?” Vista asked, reaching for one of the large bowls of popcorn on Pops’ knee.

“Because I’m pretty sure that he,” Marco started, pointing at Ace with a thumb, “will want to learn to fight even before he knows how to walk.”

From the way everybody in hearing range looked around, and how some of them paled, it was obvious that no one else had thought about it.

“Who’s telling Rouge?” Jozu asked after a pause.

Unsurprisingly, everybody’s first instinct was to turn to Marco, but he shook his head. He _could_ , it was true, but there were still some months left before Ace could so much as take a step on his own, and watching everyone flounder about how to approach Rouge over a potentially sensitive subject was too amusing a prospect to pass.

**Author's Note:**

> I admit my knowledge of children, and babies in particular, is very limited, but I hope I didn’t mess up too horribly here.
> 
> If you have any ideas or suggestions you’d like to make for this story, I’d love to hear them. I don’t promise everything will be written, but knowing what you’d like to see happen here would help me a lot :)


End file.
